


A Thousand-and-One

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [16]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Bottom Clint Barton, Bucky'll use any means necessary to warm Clint up, Bucky's metal hand turns Clint on, Christmas, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton-disaster, Day 21 prompt Hypothermia, Deaf Clint Barton, Everyone has fun tho, Excellent, Good, Happy Ending, M/M, Morning after misunderstandings, Oh yeah also no protection & no lube, Protective Bucky Barnes, Rimming, Smutty, So hurt comfort, So much tooth-rotting fluffy feels at the end, This fic has it all!, Top Bucky Barnes, alternating pov, and your feels, it really is Christmas..., just a little breaking and entering, minor hurt/comfort, nice, oh and there's felching too, that's not a euphamism, there's an actual bearskin rug, they take a bath, ya gotcha smut too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:53:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21923971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: When a 'simple' mission goes sideways, leaving Bucky alone in the Alps with an unconscious Clint suffering from hypothermia, he'll do whatever it takes to warm Clint up. WHATEVER it takes...
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558120
Comments: 22
Kudos: 193





	A Thousand-and-One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HastaLux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HastaLux/gifts), [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).



> From Kat's Johnlock Xmas Prompts, Day 21: Hypothermia  
> This was really just an excuse to write some Winterhawk smut :) It was only supposed to be a few thousand words but here we are.
> 
> A very enthusiastic thank you to Luxie for giving the first half of this a beta. Any and all mistakes are most assuredly mine.
> 
> This smut-with-feels is for Luxie and Paia, who are lovely and wonderful, and who indulge my imperfect knowledge of the Marvel universe and my yelping about how damned hot Sebastian Stan is XD

Clint was sleepy.

“C’mon, Hawkeye,” Barnes encouraged roughly, hauling him under his metal arm like he weighed nothing. “Gotta get you warm, buddy.”

“Buddy,” Clint giggled. That was funny. Barnes usually treated him like he had a communicable disease or somethin’ and now look at him. Hugging Clint and calling him buddy. That was nice. “This’is nice,” Clint slurred, letting his head flop against Barnes’ shoulder. His head thunked on hard metal.  _ Ow. _ “Baaarnes...” he whined.

“Oh Christ. C’mon, Barton, don’t die on me now. Almost there. Hold on like  _ two minutes, _ ‘kay? I’ll get you warm, I promise.”

“...k....”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Bucky was sweating. Shit. Shitshitshit. This was bad. Barton was tough as an old boot--how many times had he fallen from freakin’ buildings only to miraculously walk away with a limp and a busted lip? But he wasn’t a super soldier--or even a shitty Soviet simulacrum--and he wasn’t built to withstand prolonged exposure to the cold.

The infiltration of the underground, probably-decommissioned-but-maybe-not former Hydra base in the remote vastness of the Austrian Alps should have been an in-and-out maneuver. The team hadn’t thought they’d need more than the Winter Soldier and Hawkeye to achieve the extraction of data after a few flunkies were cleared.

Of course things had gone all to shit. Story of Bucky’s life, that.

He’d been slightly preoccupied with fending off unexpected attacks by zealously armed lab geeks and had gotten kinda distracted. By the time he found Barton, the other man was unconscious in the snow, fresh flakes nearly covering him. Given that he’d been wearing white camo, it was a fuckin’ miracle Bucky’d found him. Thank God for shitty Soviet improvements to his eyesight, huh? Not that he was sending them a thank you card or anything.

The hunting chalet he’d just dragged Barton to was a sufficient distance from the smoldering wreckage he’d left behind that they should be alright, at least long enough to get the other man warm and functioning enough to call for extraction. Bucky had to let Barton slump to the snow-covered ground long enough to pick the lock. He would have just busted the mechanism with his metal hand, but there was that whole good-guy-do-no-harm schtick, and also it was easier to go undetected if they didn’t leave behind destruction. Aside from the mostly-rubble-and-roiling-smoke remainders of the Hydra base. 

But he figured he could be forgiven a  _ little _ operatic justice and divine rage. Hoisting Barton, Bucky draped him over one shoulder and entered the chalet, closing and locking the door behind them. It was cold and stale from disuse, but the air wasn’t frigid, so a furnace must be on low to keep the pipes from freezing. Good. He could use a damn break.

After leaving Barton on a couch under an actual freakin’ bearskin rug, Bucky reconnoitered; within five minutes he had the lights on, heat blasting, and had flicked on the gas fireplace in three rooms. Checking briefly on Barton, who was pale but not blue, and breathing okay, he stopped in the kitchen long enough to start water heating for tea and then hunted out the bathroom. 

It was palatial, paneled in warm teak, and had heated floors. He turned the hot water in the shower on full blast until steam roiled throughout the room and started water rushing into the enormous jetted tub. 

Getting a sleepy Barton up the short flight of stairs to the bathroom was less trouble than undressing him proved to be. Barnes swore, struggling to get his flopping limbs out of his skin-tight white bodysuit. Why the fuck did Barton have to wear such tight clothes anyway? If he hadn’t worried that they wouldn’t be able to find anything else for him to wear, he would have just dumped him under the stream of water fully clothed.

“Barnes,” Barton murmured, “If you wanted to get me naked you just hadta ask.”

Even though there was no one to see, Bucky went bright red.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


He hadta be dreaming. No way was he completely nude, plastered against an equally naked James Barnes and surrounded by steam and hot water. Unwilling to let go of the fantasy, Clint kept his eyes closed. Which, y’know, also made sense because otherwise the water would have blinded him. He did have some common sense,  _ thank you very much Natasha. _

As he began to thaw out, however, he decided water in the eyes was worth getting an eyeful of the man who had occupied his fantasies for ages.

The first thing he was was the lightly furred pectoral right under his very own cheek. Clint whined low in his throat. Unfair. His nipple was right there. So close. He could just put his tongue out and--

The Winter Soldier should not be able to yelp like a startled schoolgirl; Clint snickered.

“Hey, uh, Barton--you awake?”

Eyes closed, Clint stayed limp against him, enjoying feeling cradled by the shorter man’s arms. Soon enough they’d go back to teammates (not friends) and he would never get this chance again. So he was going to do what any self-respecting con-man would do. 

He was gonna fake being in a swoon.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


That little shit.

Bucky felt reluctant admiration war with amusement. Clint Barton was pliant in his arms, eyes only opening slowly and reluctantly when Bucky shook him and spoke loudly. He responded just enough to make it clear he was not in danger of giving in to hypothermia or a concussion (Bucky had felt the goose egg on his head which accounted for him being unconscious earlier), but not so much that Bucky could let go of him.

The touches were almost innocent and subtle enough to be mistaken for accidents.

The third time Barton’s hand brushed Bucky’s crotch just so, however, he knew the score. Gonna play it like that, are we buddy? Alright then. Barton better be prepared for war. The  _ Winter Soldier _ didn’t play fair. And  _ Bucky _ had been renowned for his seductive skills. He hoped they weren’t too rusty--he’d been dreaming of finding himself in bed with Clint Barton for ages.

“Let’s get you into the bath,” Bucky said, shutting off the showerhead. He managed not to slip on the floor getting them both across to the bathtub. “Will you promise not to drown while I’m gone?”

“--thing for you, James.”

Hearing his seldom used given name murmured low in Barton’s husky tones made fire shoot straight to his groin. “Might hold you to that someday, Barton,” he muttered, turning to go after seeing the other man stretched out in the tub, one hand holding onto the edge. If he’d been truly out of it, he wouldn’t have left him alone in the water.

“I hope so,” Barton said, all too clearly. His eyes were closed when Bucky looked back over his shoulder, but he was smirking slightly.

Manipulative little fucker. Bucky grinned to himself as he hurried naked through the house. The teakettle had been shrieking unattended for a few minutes, but luckily the water hadn’t boiled away. He shut it off, prepared a large mug with tea, honey and a very generous slug of brandy and returned to the bathroom. Tea slopped over his hand when he found Barton stretched out in the tub, head thrown back, eyes closed, slowly stroking himself. He was biting his lip and moaning.

Bucky moaned too. Barton’s eyes opened slowly, the lust in those blue depths sending chills of want chasing themselves over Bucky’s body. His already half-hard cock filled immediately. “C’mere,” Barton said low, holding out his other hand. He ran his tongue slowly over his lower lip, tucked it inside with a suggestive curl and bit his lip softly. His neck arched, body drawing up out of the water enough to clearly reveal how aroused he was. Drawing his hand with slow purpose up and down his own length, he purred, “I could use a hand.”

The ceramic mug cracked in Bucky’s metal hand; he let it shatter unheeded to the tiles. In two strides he was at the tub. Straddling Barton’s hips, he lowered himself, letting his ass brush along the erection bobbing in the water. They both groaned. Barton’s head tipped back, exposing his throat. “Fuck me,” his plea was heartfelt, as much a command as a bid for mercy.

“Yeah?” Bucky asked hoarsely, shuddering. “You okay with that?”   
  


“More like enthusiastic,” Barton assured him, grinning cockily. His smile softened a little, “I like both, and I figured you might be not into bottoming cuz of, like,” he stumbled, “Um, Hydra stuff.”

Bucky shoved aside hazy memories of his time out of cryo, most of which involved killing. “They were evil, but no one ever did--that.” Not that he  _ remembered _ anyway, and he wasn’t eager to explore whether or not his shitty memory was accurate. He lightened the mood, giving Barton a smirk, “You can let me have that sexy ass the first time…” he leaned over, pressing their dicks and their chests together, drinking in Barton’s gasp, nibbling his lips, “But after that maybe we can see how loud  _ you _ can make  _ me _ scream.”

“Oh my God,” Barton moaned, “I’m not gonna survive this, am I?” He laughed, “Death by super soldier dick, what a way to go!”

Bucky laughed, feeling suddenly lighthearted--why had he resisted the idea of trying sex again? Sex had always been something he’d taken joy in, back in the old days, something he’d been damned good at. It had been nearly two years since he’d broken his conditioning and he was in full possession of himself; no need to think sex would unleash some uncontrollable beast. Well, unless you counted the kinda beast who wanted to fuck Clint Barton’s mouthy ass across every surface in sight.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Holy shit. This was actually happening.

Clint had spent the last God-knows-how-long fantasizing about sex with James, and now he was in the midst of finding out firsthand. James-- “Bucky” was reserved for Steve, and he couldn’t think of him as Barnes or the Winter Soldier when he was fingering him open--had shied away from touching him with his metal hand at first. Clint had grabbed him by the wrist and brought the metal fingertips to his lips, fellating them slowly, eyes on James’ the whole time. “Not afraid of you,” he’d said hoarsely, “I want all of you.”

James hadn’t made a sound, but a tiny breath had escaped him, pupils expanding, and his dick had gotten harder against Clint’s stomach. He’d surged in to kiss him with rough passion, until Clint was whining into his mouth, so goddamned eager for it he could have screamed the chalet down around them. “Won’t take long to get me ready,” he’d husked, guiding James’ metal fingers to his entrance, “Been using a dildo damned near every night, thinking about you.”

Breath stuttering, James had met his eyes, “Clint Barton, you filthy fucker,” he said in awe, “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t talk.”

“Issat a promise?” Clint had smirked, and for his answer he’d gotten the delicious probing of one metal finger against his hole as James sucked his tongue into his mouth.

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” James told him sweetly, looking so worried it made Clint’s already endangered heart melt. “I’m prepared for any other damned situation short of a nuclear bomb, but I didn’t know I’d need to bring lube and condoms.”

“Don’t need it,” Clint argued, rocking gently against the soft, pulsing foray of James’ fingers, “I’m clean, you can’t get or give disease thanks to the serum, and I don’t need lube.”

James pulled back, frowning at him in a way that was  _ seriously _ doing it for Clint. “Not gonna fuck you raw,” he bit out.

Clint sank his teeth into his lower lip, “Not even if I beg real pretty?”

“You. Are. A. Menace.”

Clint grinned, sunny, “I know! It’s one of my best qualities.” He’d always been good at lying. But then, he just needed this one night out of time to finally feel James moving inside him. He knew they were going back to blandly agreeable teammates tomorrow. Clint wasn’t--he knew he wasn’t anyone’s ever-after. Shoving aside his inconvenient emotions (yeah, he was an old pro at  _ that) _ , Clint informed him, “Get me ready just right and I won’t need lube. ‘M’not joking, James, I’m not asking you to hurt me. Although if I can feel it tomorrow--well…”

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” James repeated, looking uneasy. 

Clint remembered that the man had spent seventy years doing nothing but hurting people and wanted to kick himself. Typical Barton, putting his giant foot in his mouth. Pulling him close, he kissed James on the neck, smiling at the longing shiver. “Then make me feel good, baby.”

* * *

  
  
  


_ Make me feel good. _

Yeah, Bucky could do that. God, he wanted to. Wanted to make Clint shiver and moan and cling to him. Wanted to hear him call him baby in that longing tone. Had he ever been anyone’s “baby”? If so, it was lost to the memories which had been erased. Maybe it was time to start making some good ones.

Kissing his way down Clint’s wet chest, he took an erect nipple between his teeth and bit and laved it in turns, as he continued petting and massaging Clint’s opening with his fingers. With the other hand James stroked Clint’s dick slowly, drawing the pleasure out, until the other man was sighing and moaning. He was so hard he was afraid he’d come if Clint kept touching him the way he was. Oh well, he had super stamina from the damned serum--probably not something they had engineered on purpose. Might as well use it for some good.

Water was slapping at the porcelain, slopping over onto the floor. Clint dug his fingers into Bucky’s back, blunt nails biting sharply at his muscles. “James,” he breathed, “God, I knew you’d be like this.”

He’d thought about him. Bucky had heard his saucy quip earlier about getting off nightly to thoughts of him, but had figured it was the kind of thing you said when you were talkin’ sexy. But maybe Clint had actually meant it. Maybe he’d been thinking about Bucky the same way he’d been thinking about him. “Knew you wouldn’t shut up,” he teased, smiling up Clint’s chest, teeth toying with his nipple (he had no idea how the man had kept the barbells in his nipples a secret given how tight his damned superhero costume was, but it was a very welcome surprise). “You gettin’ cold, doll?” he asked, seeing him shiver, as he registered that they’d lingered in the bath so long the water was cooling.

“Kinda, yeah.”

“Let’s take this to one of those beds, huh?”

They barely toweled off as they emerged from the bath, too busy trying to keep touching one another. Dropping the towels on the floor, they hurried to the nearest door off the hallway, opening it to find with relief a bedroom with a gratifyingly large bed. The house was warm now, from the radiator going full-blast, and Bucky stripped the dust cover off of the bed before Clint had cleared the doorway. Clint dove onto the bed, bouncing off the mattress and nearly braining himself on the headboard. Bucky snorted, “Try not to die before we do it, huh?”

“No promises,” Clint twinkled, “I’m kinda a disaster. Hadn’t you noticed?”

“But a sexy one,” Bucky purred, prowling up the bed on his hands and knees. Clint, biting his lip, watched him with bright eyes, one hand playing with his dick as he laid on his back, legs sprawled. “Christ, I could eat you.”

“You into that, Barnes?” Clint asked, blushing a bit.

He paused, “Like, ass play, you mean?” He registered Clint’s surprised look with an internal snort. Hey, he’d spent time on the internet since breaking his conditioning. Some of it was very surprising--and some of it had leant fuel to his frustrated fantasies.

“Um, yeah?”

“Dunno...but I’m game if you are…” Bucky kissed a trail up Clint’s muscled legs, brushing them teasingly with his hands, smiling at the eager gasp it elicited. He gave Clint’s legs a gentle nudge, parting them further and lying down. He looked up the archer’s body, suggestively letting the tip of his tongue peek from his parted lips, smiling with intent, “Wanna taste you all over…”

“Oh God,” Clint breathed faintly. “Please, feel free.” He buried his fingers in Bucky’s hair, “Christ, your hair...been drivin’ me nuts for months. So sexy.”

Bucky shivered at the scrape of Clint’s nails over his scalp. Mouthing damp kisses over his thighs, he nuzzled Clint’s straining erection. The smell of him, earthy and aroused, made his stomach flip. He remembered really, really liking this, liked feelin’ a fella’s dick in his mouth, looking up from his knees. The sudden return of that memory, accompanied by a vivid sense-memory of back-alley blowjobs, made the room go sideways for a minute. No time to get distracted now. He had better things to focus on.

With the first thick glide of Clint’s cock between his lips, the salty, earthy taste of him lying heavy on his tongue, Bucky groaned low and deep. Clint gave an open-mouthed moan at the vibration on his flesh. Bucky moaned again, deeper, and took him as far as he could, swallowing a longing rush of saliva. He had no idea what Clint’s refractory period was, but he kinda wanted to suck him off, feel him come down his throat, then eat his ass until he was ragingly hard again. Fuck, he was gonna make this last all night.

* * *

  
  
  


Clint was gonna die.

James was a goddamn miracle. He sucked cock like he’d been born to it, saliva running, making the most filthy sounds, tongue everywhere, fingers touching Clint one place and then reappearing somewhere else, until the room spun. Digging his heels into the mattress, he shamelessly thrust into James’ willing mouth, fucking his throat. James made another hungry, needy sound, and Clint’s eyes nearly crossed. God, he hoped the other man was hoarse tomorrow--he wanted to hear the lingering evidence of what they’d gotten up to in his voice.

“Fuck...James…you like that? Takin’ me in your mouth like that?” Clint’s calloused fingers, tangled in James’ hair, tightened, snagging a little, tugging. James made a faint keening noise, as if pleading. Clint tugged again, harder, purposeful, and relished the needy lilt to James’ answering hum. Keeping up the pressure, altering the pattern of his tugging and caressing, he continued, “Want me to fuck your mouth, James? Hm? Come down your throat? I know I’d love to taste myself on your tongue...gonna lick your mouth, chase it... _ God… _ ” he was winding himself tighter.

James let his jaw relax further, moved so he was kneeling more over Clint’s body, and craned his head to meet his eyes. He sank all the way down to the root, pulling back so slowly that it made every hair on Clint’s body stand on end. With a swirl of his tongue he pulled off. The crystalline strand of saliva which tethered his shining lips to the head of Clint’s dick set off something painful and possessive in Clint’s chest. His fingers clenching in James’ hair darkened James’ eyes in a way that made his balls tighten. “Must not be doin’ my job right,” he rasped, voice wrecked, “If you c’n still talk.” 

Plunging back down without warning, he set up a relentless pace. Clint grunted at the forceful assault, eyes wanting to roll back. They did just that when James, done with toying, slipped a thick finger into him, the metal cool against Clint’s hot flesh. Choking on his own need, Clint’s back arched sharply off the bed. James, finding him pliant and warm, thrust gently, sucking firmly; he pulled off erratically, murmuring how gorgeous Clint was, how sexy. “Good boy,” he crooned, kissing the crown of Clint’s cock worshipfully.

Clint burned.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Bucky was discovering an unanticipated trove of tenderness inside himself. He wanted to fuckin’ worship Clint Barton; lay himself at the alter of pleasure and make him see the stars. When he forgot himself enough to start heaping praise on Clint, he kickstarted a nearly violent reaction in him. Clint shouted, hips rising sharply off the bed, nearly unseating Bucky’s mouth from his cock. He came in a prolonged rush, waves of burning hot semen coating Bucky’s tongue. He drank him down eagerly, chasing the last drops, chasing Clint’s pleasure, until he softened and whimpered, grown too sensitive.

Gently slipping his finger from Clint’s ass, Bucky kissed him gently on the iliac crest at his right hip, just where there was one unexpected freckle. Clint sighed, lazy fingers flexing in his hair, which must be a fuckin’ sight at this point. Bucky smirked happily, and laid his cheek against Clint’s stomach, seeking as much contact with his skin as he could get.

After a few minutes Clint stirred, seeming to find a bit of strength. “God,” he slurred, smacking a bit. It was so cute Bucky’s chest hurt. “James, goddamn.  _ Goddamn.” _

Bucky laughed, blinking away unasked-for moisture. He’d done something that made someone else purely happy--given pleasure, not pain. He hadn’t taken anything from Clint except for joy, freely given. Turning his hot face into Clint’s belly, he breathed him in for a moment, so happy it ached inside him. “I know, doll.”

Clint sounded almost upset, which just wouldn’t do, “But you didn’t come…”

Bucky sat up on his knees, letting Clint see how ragingly hard he was. “I’m not going anywhere.” He stroked himself lazily, biting his lip as he met Clint’s eyes, “Neither is this.”

Clint’s cheeks were hot pink, the impossible blue of his irises swallowed up by his pupils. “Jesus Christ, Barnes, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Hope not,” Bucky smiled, leaning back on his heels. He kept one hand on himself, the other smoothing up Clint’s leg, “I’ve got plans for that ass, Barton.”

“Oh yeah? What kinda plans?”   
  


“Naughty ones,” Bucky twinkled, feeling flirtatious. He wondered if this was what he’d been like back in the day, then dismissed it as unimportant; Clint was his here and now. “Still gotta find out how I like openin’ that fine ass up with my tongue.”

“Oh God…”

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

While James was technically older, and he had in theory more experience, Clint was delighted to teach him a thing or two. When he explained what a ‘sixty-nine’ was, the man blushed so hard it looked like sunset. Laughing in delight, Clint had tackled him back on the bed and set about kissing James until he was panting open-mouthed, hands clutching Clint to him like he’d never let him go. Clint eased his way down his gorgeous body, whispering praise. James actually covered his face with both hands, overcome, so Clint had to crawl back up his body and tug his hands away, kiss him softly in between compliments.

Finally he took mercy on him, and swung around to face the other end of the bed. Glancing over his shoulder, he raised an eyebrow. “Imma see if I can get a handle on this situation down here, Sargent. Think you got things under control in the rear?”

“Jesus Christ,” James protested, laughing, but fell into open-mouthed silence when Clint set himself to exploring his cock. It was some time before he recalled himself and put his hands on Clint’s ass, instead of fisting them in the bedspread. Not that Clint minded. He kinda liked knowing he’d reduced him to speechless wonder.

Clint was the one panting slack jawed when James recalled his promises, however. The first move he made was to cup Clint’s ass cheeks in his rough palms and squeeze, as if testing for ripeness. As he parted Clint’s cheeks, he exhaled, either on purpose or in anticipation; the hot wash of breath over his skin made Clint fall still, his lips hovering over James’ dick. “Don’t tell me I’m so good I don’t even need to do anything to take your mind offa my dick?”

“Asshole,” Clint breathed, grinning. He yelped when James nipped his buttock. The sting was soothed by the soft lap of a warm tongue, which soon migrated closer to glory. Clint clung to the sheets, pressing his forehead to James’ thick thigh. Something, James’ nose maybe, trailed ticklingly over the curve of his ass, then firm fingers spread him farther apart and James _ feasted. _

Clint groaned, gutteral and base, forehead dropping to James’ leg, grinding against his thigh, unable to fucking _ think  _ for a minute. Even if he’d been able to process a thought at that moment, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to try and recall the last time anyone had done this for him. Had anyone, ever, given themselves over so completely to making him happy? If they had, they were forgotten. There wasn’t anyone or anything in the world right now beyond James. James and his nimble tongue, lapping hotly at his ring of muscle, fluttering and darting, lingering until Clint wanted to push himself back onto it, seeking more.

The blowjob he gave James started off distracted and probably not his best effort. But once he got his scrambled brain on board, the lovely, luscious glide of James’ cock passing through his lips echoed the luxurious stroke of James’ tongue over his intimate areas. He giggled, startled, when James mouthed softly at his balls, sucking them into his mouth one by one. It was so...playful. Who would have guessed the often stern-looking Bucky Barnes would be dandling his balls on his tongue, chest heaving with an answering laugh under Clint’s body?

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He’d never had sex like this. Playful, tumbling and teasing, joy-filled and just damned fun. Releasing Clint’s balls with a wet pop, Bucky grinned against his cheek. “You havin’ fun, doll?”

“Mmhm,” Clint hummed, smiling around Bucky’s dick. He licked delicately at the slit, hummed again, as if Bucky were unbearably tasty. “Hard not to with you--ah!--doin’ that.”

Chest swelling with pride, Bucky curled his hands around Clint’s thighs, hitching him closer, and dove back in. The earthy taste of Clint on his tongue deepened as his body became supple, yielding to the caress of Bucky’s ministrations. Catching the loosened ring of muscle with his thumbs, Bucky spread Clint wide and thrust his tongue as deep as it would go. Clint bucked, lips skiddering on Bucky’s dick. He cried out, broken, and began to rut against Bucky’s face, panting. “Ah God! James...James, please…”

“What, doll?” He rubbed his metal thumb over Clint, smiling when the other man whimpered in wordless pleading. “You like that?”

“God,” Clint panted, “Yeah...love it…”

Bucky fucked him gently with his metal digit, marveling at how eagerly Clint sought his touch. He could have stayed like that indefinitely, watching the hand that had done so much damage wring ecstacy from Clint. His own arousal was secondary, though at a fever-pitch. Clint solved the dilemma for him. 

“James...please, fuck me?” He sounded wrecked, his sweaty face pressed against Bucky’s leg, as if he couldn’t help but seek something to ground him. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

Pulling Clint roughly to him, Bucky pressed his mouth fervently to Clint’s asshole, lavishing a sloppy, obscenely wet kiss upon him, tongue slipping inside, wet and slick, trying to ensure there was enough moisture to ease his way. “Come on,” Bucky coaxed, breathing roughly, breathless, he helped him sit up and turn, “C’mere.”

Facing him, Clint moved forward until he was hovering over Bucky. Their gazes locked, and Clint held Bucky’s eyes as he braced his palms on his chest and lined up. Bucky cradled James’ hips in his hands, urging him to lower himself slowly. James put one hand down, guiding himself to Clint’s opening until the head of his dick was nudging hot, slick skin. They both stilled when Clint dropped his weight; with only minimal resistance James pushed through the thin, stretched ring of muscle. He watched as Clint’s face altered, as he bore down until James was all the way inside him.

Their sighs were almost simultaneous. Clint fluttered around him, adjusting slowly. “Okay?” James asked, voice rough. His libido was screaming at him, demanding he pull Clint down, fuck up into him.

“Yeah,” Clint assured him, opening his eyes, which had drifted shut. The blue was brilliant, his smile broad. He looked fucking delighted to be full of James’ dick. Bucky’s heart seized painfully in his chest. Never in a fucking long life had he ever met anyone like Clint Barton--never known anyone who looked at him like that. “More than.” He planted his palms flat on James’ chest, squatting over him, thigh muscles bulging, agile acrobat’s body allowing him to rise and lower himself with ease. He let his head tip back, lazy smile playing at his lips. “God,” he rumbled, “Yeah, baby…”

Bucky sighed, the tightness easing in his chest, and placed one hand on the small of Clint’s back, letting the other skate up Clint’s sweaty chest to toy with the barbell in his right nipple. “Fuck, Clint...look at you. Gorgeous.”

Biting softly into his lower lip, Clint glowed down at him, lit from within with pure sensual pleasure, bright with happiness. “You outta see the view from where I’m sittin’,” he drawled, winking. He closed his eyes, humming, and rose up, slowly, torturously slowly, and then even more slowly sank down,

Controlling his breathing, Bucky held tight to Clint and focused on how good it felt--how familiar, yet how startlingly new--to be doing this. While he’d feared letting go of his hard-won self-control enough to indulge in something so potentially fraught with wildness, Bucky was relieved that all he felt was keen pleasure and burgeoning elation. If they’d been physically able, he could have kept on fucking all night.

Breathing shallow and fast, Clint moved forward, almost all the way off of James, and hung above him, sweat dripping from his face. “You alright?” Bucky smoothed his hips, a little worried.

Clint nodded jerkily, meeting his eyes, “Yeah, just. ‘m close. Need a minute or I’m gonna come.”

Bucky ran fond hands up his sides, “That’s kinda the point.”

“Oh...I’m familiar with the point,” Clint said suggestively, giving his hips a little wiggle. He smiled, that bright, smirky, cocky smile that had been driving Bucky crazy for months. “You make your point very well. I’m not ready for this to be over yet though.”

Bucky was about to tell him that his orgasm didn’t have to mean the end of anything, but Clint had moved again, setting up an erratic rhythm. Plunging down quickly, but then drawing himself up, almost off Bucky’s dick, then repeating. It was maddening, and was quickly ramping up Bucky’s desire, and eroding his control. He wanted to flip them, to pound Clint into the mattress, turn him into an incoherent mess. But this was Clint’s show, and it was hot as hell, and Bucky was having a damn good time--he wasn’t really in any hurry to see it end too quickly.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Clint was edging them both towards madness. 

In his life he’d experienced a lot, traveled to most continents, seen some crazy shit. But he wasn’t sure there could be any finer sight than a naked, sweaty, grinning James Barnes, open-mouthed with wonder, eyes glazed with lust, moving with lazy skill to meet Clint’s rolling hips. His thigh muscles were starting to burn, and if he didn’t move soon he was risking a massive cramp in his calf. “Need to move,” he murmured, brushing his nose down James’ cheek, purring in his ear, “Wanna fuck me into the mattress?”

In answer, James surged up, hooking him around the waist and flipping them so he was on top. Clint stretched out his legs, pointing his toes gratefully, and raised his arms over his head, hooking his hands over the footboard. James rubbed his hands lightly over Clint’s chest, plucking at the piercings in his nipples. Clint shivered. “Gonna taste you,” James purred, kissing his way down Clint’s body. He arched into the other man’s mouth, feeling each press of his lips like a brand, claiming him. Closing his eyes against the rush of longing, so intense it ached like a blow, Clint spread his legs and dared to let his lashes raise just enough to watch James worship at his ass. He kissed and lipped delicately at the puffy skin, humming against Clint’s taint, surprising a startled laugh of shock and pleasure out of him.

Murmuring that he tasted good, James teased and soothed, using his lips, tongue and breath to rain tender ministrations upon him. Clint threw one arm over his eyes, swallowing hard. This...this was gonna break him.

Leaning back, James dragged his forearm over his shining lips, pale eyes dark with lust as he regarded him laid out before him on the wildly rumpled bed. “I can taste myself on you,” he husked. “Can’t wait to taste my cum in your sweet ass.”

Not a lot was capable of making Clint blush, but he went hot, squirming. James Barnes was a dirty, _ dirty _ man and he loved it. Grinning, he reached for him, “Better.. _.come here.. _ .then.”

James groaned, “Har har. Don’t quit your day job, Barton.”

Clint was laughing until James pushed into him without warning. His laugh cut off abruptly, and he moaned in want, reaching for him. Head grinding restlessly into the mattress, he clung to James’ waist as he drove into him, slow and sleek and sensual. Just as he was relaxing, James abruptly took Clint’s legs, hauled them up over his shoulders and snapped his hips, fucking fast and deep. Clint lost his breath, lost focus, and just laid back and moaned as James drove into him.

The look on James’ face was desperate, wild, and Clint managed to pull himself together enough to grit out, “I want you to come in me--come for me, James.”

Swearing, James thrust almost wildly, then stilled, pumping into him, filling him. Clint dragged his nails down James’ chest, raking him. Hissing, James twitched, one last pulse of come inside him. Shaking, he pulled free, leaving Clint feel empty. Before he could mourn the loss too much, James had slid to his belly, pulling Clint to his mouth. “Look at you, Clint, Jesus.” He paused, lips just above Clint’s ass, eyes intent on his face. “You look…” losing his words, he lowered his head, and gently, delicately, licked at the pearl of come Clint could feel oozing down his crack.

So close was he, that he moaned unabashedly at the first swipe of James’ tongue. James echoed his moan, licking a broad, lusty stripe up his crack, delving between his cheeks, cleaning him with his eager tongue. Panting desperately, Clint reached for his dick, but James pushed his hand aside, and replaced it with his own. The torturously slow glide of his fist around Clint’s straining flesh was matched by the delicate swipe of his tongue deeper into his body. Clint’s nails scrabbled at the hardwood of the footboard, the wood frame creaking under the desperate pull of his hands. 

Humming as if Clint were the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, James buried his face deeper between his cheeks and slipped one finger into him, aided by the excess of come slowly leaking from him. Clint cried out, straining to get that finger deeper inside. His pleas made little sense, but James seemed to understand, finding his prostate with his metal finger, and massaging it delicately. He continued to lick and nibble softly at the thin skin stretched around his questing finger, while his other hand stroked exquisitely up and down Clint’s length. “Fuck,” Clint ground out, “Fuck...James, I need your mouth, gimme--”

James complied, finger still stroking inside him, hand tightening around the base of Clint’s length, as he sucked him down. He hollowed his cheeks, increasing the pressure all around Clint, catapulting him into orgasm. Clint screamed, back arching, shoving himself further down James’ throat. James bobbed his head fiercely and Clint came, pouring into his mouth, clinging desperately to the footboard, which creaked alarmingly.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Clint was avoiding him.

Bucky would have liked to believe it was something else, but the signs all lead inescapably to one conclusion. Hawkeye had a tendency to linger in the rafters, even in the air ducts, preferring his high spaces and solitude. Clint would come around to the Tower sometimes when Romanoff was there, or Stark had summoned them for “team-building exercises.” But mostly he disappeared to Bed-Stuy, doing whatever it was Clint Barton did when he wasn’t being Hawkeye.

In the past, if they’d run into one another, the two men would give nods, maybe exchange a few words. Bucky’d been apprehensive around everyone for a long time, fearing his ability to remain self-directing. There’d been the added strain of his instant attraction to Clint. Given his worries that sex would relinquish his control over himself, Bucky had thought it best to maintain his distance. That was before, though.

Before Austria. Before the bath and the bed. Before Bucky had been ‘James’ and ‘baby.’ Before he’d given himself permission to fall for Clint Barton in a big way. 

After making love, they’d fallen asleep, sprawled across the wrecked bed, sweaty skin brushing. They woke twice in the night, coming together almost dreamily, moving softly to completion. The last time, Bucky hadn’t let Clint roll away, but had pulled him into his arms and nuzzled his nose into the sweaty hair behind his ear. Suddenly realizing something, he sat up a little, and asked if he didn’t want to take his aids out? “I know they irritate your ears if you leave them in,” he’d observed, and couldn’t understand why Clint had stiffened. When he’d complied a minute later and laid back down, Bucky decided he was imagining it and had just been happy to have Clint curl into his arms as they fell asleep.

In the morning he’d woken alone, gone in search of him and found a bleary-eyed Clint holding a gun on a startled Steve and Sam. Bucky, wishing he weren’t naked and sporting morning wood, had suggested coffee. He would have taken the time he was in the bedroom getting dressed to check in with the other man, who hadn’t looked at him once. Clint, however, had melted into the kitchen in search of coffee.

There wasn’t really an opportunity to talk to him after that. Steve explained that the explosion having made the news, their trackers were engaged, and when they didn’t check in, Stark had sent the two of them after them. They’d done their best to clean up, but there wasn’t much they could do about the broken bed frame, and finally Steve just left a wad of cash on the kitchen counter and the four of them left for the Quinjet. No good opportunities to talk there, either. Especially since Clint seemed to be happy to remain firmly in his seat next to Sam. Deciding there would be better times and places to find out what was going on, Bucky gave it up.

No good chance came about, however. Once they landed in New York, Clint asked Stark for a private briefing, explaining that he had “people waiting on me” in Bed-Stuy. Bucky felt a flicker of worry at that. There was a whole lot he didn’t know about Clint’s life outside of the Avengers, and somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that the man might have a lover, a family. He’d--arrogantly, it seemed--assumed that Clint was a loner, like the rest of them. Thinking about someone anxiously waiting to welcome him home sent a sour pain radiating through Bucky’s gut.

  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_ Jesus Christ, Barnes, get a clue, _ Clint thought in desperation. Couldn’t he tell when someone was trying to ignore him? Thing was, Clint shouldn’t have had to try. It was like he’d never heard of a one-night-stand. They had to have had those in the 40s, right?

Clint was a realist. One night of enthusiastic fucking, a little post-near-death indulgence between teammates, and they’d never talk about it again. Go back to indifferent Barnes and disaster Barton. He could hide his messy emotions and inconvenient... _ thing _ ...for the other man and eventually it would be like it never happened.

That was the plan, anyway. Only no one seemed to have informed Barnes that he was supposed to be ignoring Clint. His heart-stoppingly blue eyes always seemed to be fixed on Clint questioningly when they encountered one another. Clint made sure there was someone else there the few times he went to the Tower, so there wasn’t an opportunity for Barnes to give him some paltry little speech about how great the sex was, but it was just the once.  _ I know, alright? _ Clint thought, scowling, slumped in a chair at the back of the room, scarcely paying attention to the intel Tony was presenting. 

“Wings up in five, guys,” Tony called, and everyone started rising to their feet.

Clint mysteriously tripped over nothing (hey he was a disaster, alright, but even he needed something to trip over), and nearly brained himself on the table. He would have, if not for Barnes suddenly appearing at his side, catching him by the elbow and exclaiming loudly. It drew everyone’s attention, and Barnes held onto him like Clint was some frail old grandpa, about to keel over. “Careful, Barton! You feelin’ alright, buddy? Still lightheaded from that blow you took?”

“Wha--”

Barnes pushed him gently into his chair, giving the gang a look of limpid-eyed concern, “Think Barton might need a day or two longer before he’s ready to go back out in the field. I should probably stay with him.”

“Oooookay?” Tony drawled, sounding lost.

Natasha looked at them, her porcelain face unreadable. Banner suggested Barnes take him to Medical. Steve and Sam exchanged a look, looked at Clint, looked at Barnes, looked back at one another. “That’s a good idea,” Steve said, practically radiating sincerity and oh-gosh-ma’am-it-was-nothing earnestness. Sam shot a look at Clint, who thought of that cracked footboard and fought a blush.

“You should probably go lie down,” Sam suggested, blinking innocently. “Barnes, you stay with him, hm? Make sure he’s alright.”

“I’m on it,” Barnes said, hooking an arm around Clint’s waist and lifting him easily. He would have objected to being carried like a damsel in distress but A) no one stuck around to listen and B) it was kinda nice.

“You’re a dick,” Clint said flatly. “Did you really just trip me so you could stay back from this mission?”   
  


“No,” James--no, damn it!  _ Barnes _ \--said cheerfully, “I tripped you so we could stay back from this mission. From the sound of it they’ll have this wrapped up in a few hours. We need to talk.”

“Sneaky fucker,” Clint grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re cute when you pout,” Barnes winked at him, “Course, you’re cute no matter what you’re doin’, but I have a particular fondness for you pouting.”

“Does Steve know how sneaky you are?” Clint demanded, ignoring the ‘cute’ part.

“Please. Stevie’s a lil bastard. He’s got you guys all fooled with that ‘apple pie and justice for all’ bit. You know he’s a terrible card cheat, right? Like, that’s why he always wipes the floor with you.”

Clint wouldn’t let himself be distracted--although they were going back to that later-- “What makes you think we need to talk?”

Barnes slowed, stopped in the hallway just outside the door of Clint’s never-used suite in the Tower, and cocked an eyebrow, which yeah, okay, fair. “Why don’t you open the door, coy-boy?”

“Put me down,” Clint demanded, “I’m not actually in danger of fainting and I refuse to be carried across the threshold like a swooning virgin.”

Complying, the other man nodded at the door, “Alright, after you.”

Clint smirked, “I’m not letting us in--and you can’t get in without my biometrics. So you can just say what you have to say and let me leave.”

Smiling like a shark, Barnes regarded him with his head tipped flirtatiously to one side, “Alright doll, have it your way. I don’t mind telling you that I miss eating your ass out while you scream my name--you get all that, Jarvis?”

“Yes, Sargent,” came the instant reply.

Clint’s face flamed, “Tony reviews those files you know!” he hissed, slamming his palm against the print reader. Of course, because he was in a snit, he messed it up and had to try again two more times before the door finally opened. He stomped into the suite, which was the perfect temperature and not at all stale despite the fact that he hadn’t stayed here in months. Lights glowed to life as he stormed from the entry through the living room and into the kitchen. He needed coffee if they were going to do this.

Barnes watched him as he slammed around the kitchen. “Do you really need caffeine when you’re this worked up?”

“I’m not worked up!” Clint yelled, throwing his hands in the air. He pressed the button to brew and swung around to face him. “I just don’t know why we’re doing this!”

“What is it you think we’re doing?”

“You’re gonna tell me it was great but it can’t happen again--which, okay, I know, alright? I  _ know. _ You don’t gotta rub it in.” Clint ran a weary hand over his face, suddenly tired enough to cry. 

Barnes’ face shut down. He hadn’t looked that emotionless since the early days. Clint hated it. It made his stomach hurt. “Right,” he said curtly, pushing away from the doorway where he’d been leaning. His body language was stiff, almost robotic. “Got it. Message received. You made a mistake. Won’t bother you again.”

Clint couldn’t believe his ears. “I made a--wait, what, you think  _ I  _ regret what happened?”

Not turning, he answered flatly, “Don’t you?”

Clint let out the breath that felt as if it were trying to claw its way out of his chest,  _ “No! _ I’m fuckin’ glad it happened. But I also wish it hadn’t--cuz now I know what I’m missing. It was bad enough wantin’ you before--now I’m gonna have to wean myself offa you!” His voice broke embarrassingly, “I know you don’t want anything more from me, but I just need a little time before I’m okay with that, alright?”

James’ body changed, the tension leaving his shoulders, and he swung around. The look on his face took Clint’s uneven breath away. “Why do--Jesus, Clint, why do you think I don’t want anything more from you?” He advanced on him, which should have been worrisome, but was mostly just hot. Clint already had a thing for his murder-strut, but feeling as if James were about to pounce and kiss him breathless...yeah, that was really somethin’.

“No one does,” he admitted, humiliated, but laying it out on the table. “I’ve never--it’s only one-night stands, alright?” James’ face was confused. Christ, why did he have to make him spell it out? “No one sticks around.”

James grabbed him, face fierce, but his hands gentle, “You mean some bozo coulda had you in their life and they never--Jeez, I knew people were idiots but this is ridiculous!” His look gentled, and Clint wanted to lean into his tender hand when it rose to cup his cheek. “Clint Barton, you colossal idiot, I don’t want a one-night stand from you.” His voice deepened and he leaned closer, breath ghosting across Clint’s tingling lips, close enough to kiss. His eyes were intense, “A thousand nights wouldn’t be enough to get you outta my system.” Growling softly, he pressed a kiss to Clint’s lips, murmured against them, “I’ll be conservative and say we can start with a thousand-and-one and go from there…”

Heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, Clint slid his arms around James, who pulled him flush against his chest. He kissed him passionately, until they were both breathing hard. “You might get tired of me,” he warned, only half joking. The anxious little orphan in him was a ball of nerves.

With a look so tender it shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, James held his face in his hands, “Clinton Francis Barton,” he said solemnly, “I got seventy years of livin’ to make up for and I wanna make ‘em all up with you.”

  
  



End file.
